It's not a part of luck really. Most things in existence have no trade with luck, they have no reason to be a part of fortune's grand scheme of things. Most of the world is confounded and disturbed not by chance but design. If you get a speeding ticket it's not because you were unlucky, rather because you were foolish enough to be speeding. If you lose your job it's not because you fight against the designs of blind god but rather because you violated some trust with your employment. Unlucky in Love? Foolish in Love would be a more truthful cliche'

"I don't understand this Benji. Don't understand why I'm out here picking up trash when I could be out doing something. I wrote a few plays in high school, did I ever tell you that? All in Iambic pentameter. Ms. Robbins, my English teacher, said she was very impressed with me. Told me that I could really be a writer if I wanted to be. Told me I was something special and talented."

"So why don't you send off some stuff to magazines ya loghead?" Benji was never polite with Desmond.

"There's no point in that Benji. You don't understand how the publishing industry works. They don't want quality they want what's popular. They want dumbed down shit that anybody can relate to. I tried sending out four or five things to different magazines but I never got anything out of it. All I gots was form letters.."

"you could write stuff on a blog."

"Now you know I don't have a computer."

"Library."

"I don't want to be held down by library time you know. Want to own my own time."

"how about this. You stay on this side of the parking lot and I'll go on the other side 'cause if I keep talking to you then I'm going to have to beat you down. and I don't want to spend any more time in prison." Benji shuffled away picking up trash as he walked.

"hate that motherfucker." Desmond muttered under his breath as he picked up a piece of trash, held it for a moment while looking at the highway, and then finally putting it in his trash bag.

Most people get that look in their eye, that look that means I really don't want to be here, I really want to be somewhere else. I want to be in another life. Most get that look sporadically in their lives at moment when their life bores them. Desmond was one of the few that had something actually happen.

The air around him turned to transparent haze, it was as if he could see through the air into something else, something he could not quite comprehend. Out of the haze came two men, one with pale hair and the other with dark hair. They were both pale and they were both dressed in robes with symbols sewn unto the hem. The pale haired one wore a red and white robe while the dark haired one wore blue and white. They were gorgeous to look at and resembled nothing less then gods.

"You do not like yourself" they said in unison, their voices merged in harmonic perfection. It was as if Handel's Messiah was paired down to two voices.

"What I I mean what the."

"You do not like yourself and you wish to change" A closer listen revealed they they resembled not Handel's Messiah but rather the source upon which the work was based.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Read this. Do it. Change what you have." The twins who were not twins handed over a book bound in purple silk, it's pages thick and sturdy.

The twins who were not twins started to glow bright and in the apex of their brightness disappeared. Their was still a little bit of haze where they had been but otherwise everything was back to how it had been. Except now Desmond hand in his hands a purple book with no title. As he flipped through the book he saw diagrams and and rhymes. The first page

"Center your mind on water
think harder for longer.

"Doggerel." Desmond muttered under his breath. "They gave me a book of doggerel. But he centered his mind on water, thought of all the water in the world and then felt a bit hit his lip.

Looking down he saw a spring of water from the concrete and then watched it dissipate back down. Intrigued Desmond tried again and watched as the water sprung up and continued to flow as long as he held it in his mind.

When he had tried of water he turned the pages over and excitedly notices poems for fire, wealth, summons, and one long poem that promised it's user the ability to move the worlds together. As he was practicing the fire spell a bullet thrust through his skull and lodged in his brain killing him instantly.

Reverend Jimmy was a god fearing man, and no satanic rites were going to be practiced on his church parking lot.

"Understand the procedure now? Just stop a few of their machines...throw them into darkness for a few hours and then sit back and watch the pattern. They pick the most dangerous enemy they can find and it's themselves."----Rod Serling